


Familiar Lines of You

by restless (cabinfever)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 03:11:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cabinfever/pseuds/restless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College!Art Student!AU. Zayn is an art student, and Liam is his unwitting muse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Familiar Lines of You

“What are you painting?” Liam asked [again](http://ziambromancing.tumblr.com/post/36758622198/familiar-lines-of-you), trying to sit up from the bed and peer around the easel.

Zayn stopped him with a glare, good-natured but firm. “I told you, Li, if you’re impatient, you won’t ever find out what it is.”

Liam huffed and flopped back on the pillows, deigning to stare at Zayn while he worked. The boy’s hair, neglected after a long day in class, fell on his forehead in a jet-black mess with those few blond highlights peeking through. His amber eyes, always so lit with excitement, were focused eagerly on the canvas in front of him, and his tongue just barely poked through his lips in concentration. Those fingers of his, so long and elegant, gripped the paintbrush and twirled it with expert care, making tiny little marks and long, swooping strokes, each movement so controlled but also feral and free, a bit of Zayn in the work itself.

Zayn probably didn’t notice him; he was too engrossed in his work to take any notice of the eyes glued to him. Liam smiled when he realized that Zayn probably felt his gaze all the time, but had probably learned its feeling and just took it into stride. And that possession of a part of Zayn’s subconscious gave him a particular feeling of pride.

Maybe Zayn, with all of his distracted, languid nature and penchant for sleeping, didn’t seem to be the ideal boyfriend for Liam to many. Honestly, there were just so many differences between them. Where Zayn was funny and creative, Liam was cautious and to-the-book. When Liam was bent over his work for engineering, fretting and calculating, Zayn was slashing lines of color across the canvas, free and without giving a fuck what other people thought. And Zayn’s attitude towards life was to ‘just enjoy the rollercoaster’ and he reinforced it through his actions. Liam was the ‘if they say so, then I will’ type of guy, or that was how he was pretty sure he was.

But they still shared a common love for each other, Zayn showing it through fierce kisses and smudged charcoal drawings of Liam’s lips while Liam showered Zayn with words of affection and long nights of talking, held in each other’s arms just because they could.

Some days Liam would come home to their shared flat on the college’s campus and would see the walls covered in the older art student’s work, fine pencil lines and hazy charcoal landscapes. And then Zayn would emerge from his studio, his smile radiant and hands stained with his work. “Li!” he’d shout, as if he needed to announce it to the apartment because why not?

Zayn’s lips quirked into a smile and he set down the paintbrush. “Done,” he told Liam, sounding immensely satisfied with himself.

Liam propped himself up on his elbows, beaming expectantly at his boyfriend. “So are you finally going to show me, or have these past two hours been for nothing?” he asked teasingly.

Zayn grinned and picked up [the painting](http://ziambromancing.tumblr.com/post/36758622198/familiar-lines-of-you). “I made it for you,” he explained, and turned it to face Liam.

Liam sat up with a gasp of shock. Because here was his own face staring back at him, a painting all done in the tans of his skin, the brown of his hair; the pink of his lips. Here was a painting of Liam’s face, doing nothing but looking straight at him, lips forming a slight smile but also parted in an expression of concentration, of awe. His eyes were soft and quizzical, emotion captured in brushstrokes and color better than living, breathing flesh ever could. Eyebrows, each hair painstakingly outlined, were raised just a bit, one quirked up a bit more than the other. Liam’s face was simply content, beatific, as if whatever he was staring at was the most beautiful thing in the world.

“Zayn,” Liam stammered, standing up from the bed to get a closer look at the painting. “Zayn, this is gorgeous. This is…I don’t even know what to say.”

“Say something,” Zayn replied softly, his eyes apprehensive and anxious for Liam’s judgment.

Liam took in the expression that the painting was wearing. “Where’d you get this picture of my face?” he asked curiously, glancing to the wall in their room that was plastered with photos of the two of them.

Zayn smiled gently, nearly imperceptibly. “You never see yourself do it, you know. It just happens sometimes, and it’s my favorite look on you.” He paused, amber eyes gleaming. “You smile like that when you look at me.”

Liam smiled widely, feeling like his heart was swelling to be lighter than a balloon. “And…and you remembered it?” he asked in disbelief.

“Well, yeah, but I wanted to have a reference. Why do you think I always have you sit in on my painting sessions?” Zayn asked with a grin. He took one of Liam’s hands and held it in his own. “You’re the perfect model.”

“This is the best thing anyone has ever done for me,” Liam told Zayn quietly, stepping forward so that they were a hairsbreadth apart.

Zayn’s breath ghosted across Liam’s lips. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he countered as way of defense.

Liam closed the distance between them and captured Zayn in a kiss, wrapping his arms around the older boy’s neck and holding on for dear life.

“So you like it?” Zayn breathed against Liam’s mouth, pausing for a moment to catch his breath, the unshaven hairs on his chin tickling Liam’s face.

Liam laughed and pushed Zayn down onto the bed, pressing himself against the skinny frame of his art student, his best friend; his lover. “What do you think?”


End file.
